


Parcae

by MadTrout



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 11:27:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1777405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadTrout/pseuds/MadTrout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In every universe, Korra and Asami belong together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This Day and Age

**Author's Note:**

> Some of you may recognize this story from either my tumblr or my fanfiction account. If it is redundant for you, I apologize; however, I realize that some people do not have either of those accounts so I would like to share my writing here. Thank you and please enjoy.

Modern Day

“Korra, breakfast is waiting for you.”

Rolling away from the voice, Korra fights waking up this early with as much strength as she can muster, but the effort to keep sleeping is too much and her clenched eyes open to see her guardian standing patiently in the doorway. The sun beats down on her room, casting a glow and energizing the lump of a woman still debating sleep.

“Gimme some time to get ready, Pema.” Her voice is slurred and husky, the lingering effects of sleep evident in her lazy speech. Tan hands come up to rub away at the sleeping her shocking blue eyes.

“I tried to make food from your home. I didn’t have some of the ingredients so I improvised, I hope you enjoy it.” With a warm smile and a kind look, Pema disappears from the doorway with a hand on her pregnant belly leaving Korra to collect herself.

The young woman allows a small smile to ghost across her lips before the inexplicable pain of homesickness makes it way to her core and twists around for a bit. Sliding her legs over the edge of her small bed, Korra falls to the floor catching herself with her hands at the last second and begins doing pushups. She likes to pretend that physical activity like her MMA training and surfing make her forget about how much she misses her parents that live in a remote, provincial village in the South Pole. Other than the original nomads that had separated from the Northern Water Tribe (who, according to legend, created a bridge of solid ice from the ocean and used it to cross the sea and settle at the frozen end of the earth thousands of years ago), no one had ever be brave or tough enough to survive the biting cold that Korra and her people had stubbornly lived with for years and years.

Until, people from the Nations came and began to set-up drilling stations for petroleum and taking the young children from the Tribe.

When “relief” organizations came to help young Korra’s people (help with what, she had no idea), she was forced to move away from her parents and land and to the States: She remembers them telling her something about her destiny was greater than what this _simple lifestyle_ could offer her and she was shipped away from her parents with some men from the White Lotus (whatever that was) and sent to the States to learn.

Tears patter the wood floor and Korra’s arms strain to complete her sixty-fourth push-up as she recalls the memory of her being taken on a boat with pale people who didn’t even speak the same language while her parents watched, unable to stop them. With an angry huff, she leans back on her knees and wipes the water from her cheeks viciously. No, she’s cried enough, she thinks.

Looking outside her window, she smiles and scrubs her cheeks dry at the blissful sight; the sun is shining and she can see the ocean just on the horizon. The bright ball in the sky glints off of the glass like water, reflecting off of the individual droplets and creating a sea of diamonds. She dresses for another day spent at the beach.

After running a sea-leopard bone brush (from her tribe) through her brown strands, her calloused fingers quickly wrap the majority of her hair back into a high wolftail with a deep blue leather cord. Bangs frame both sides of her face and scrape at her defined collarbone and she takes care threading two ornate clay beads with decorative marking- each about an inch long-into the hair that brushes the sides of her face.

Touching the tribal engravings affectionately, Korra looks at herself in the mirror: She stands, navy bathing suit top tying around her neck above the V of her powder blue t-shirt. Her arms, tan and muscular are banded with jewelry from her tribe that will never come from her arms. Jean short clad hips meet the t-shirt that hides a defined torso and show off her mile long legs.

If she as a child saw herself as she is now, she wouldn’t see any resemblance. The thought makes her hang her head and she turns from her reflection, her cerulean orbs darkening.

/

Tenzin smiles at Korra when she enters the large kitchen, watching as she sets her long, azure surfboard against the wall by her chair. The symbol from the Southern Water Tribe (as the natives like to call themselves) is etched meticulously into the fiber. About the size of a large skillet, the symbol is religious in nature and the reverence the indigenous people of the Water Tribe has for the sea and the moon is exemplified in the crashing waves and the crescent moon carved into the circular frame.

For a moment, Tenzin’s admiration of the Tribe’s spirituality prohibited him from welcoming his guest of ten years and he shakes his bald, tattooed head with a smile thrown in the direction of the tan woman.

“Good morning, Korra. I trust you slept well?”

Korra frowns, touching a wrist band for comfort, “No, Master Tenzin, I didn’t.”

“Have you been meditating-“

Interrupting Tenzin’s sentence, Korra stands abruptly. Her chair scrapes loudly against the wood flooring causing Pema and Tenzin to cringe.

“Meditating doesn’t help me,” Korra snaps with flashing eyes. The children at the table jump at her biting tone and Korra sighs, “I’m sorry, Tenzin. I just need to get out of the house for a while. It’s ten years today since I left my parents and I’m a little on edge.”

A sympathetic look molds Tenzin’s face and he bows to her respectfully, “Of course, Korra. You may have the day off today. Training can wait.”

“Thanks, Tenzin. Naga, come.” She whistles sharply and her ivory furred companion joins her side.

Smiling, Korra grabs her board and jogs out of the large house. The sun rains down on her, warming her dark caramel skin and she immediately feels… better. For some reason unknown to her, Korra has always felt invigorated and strong with sun bearing down on her, burning her skin. Underneath the full moon, she feels as if her blood pumps accordingly with the push and pull of the moon and she feels a certainty in her that is inexplicable, a certainty the goes hand in with the promise the tides will rise and ebb with the gravitation of the moon. Wind tugs gently at her loose shirt and Korra breathes it in and her icy-blue eyes close in a small flutter; the warm air fills her lungs and she’s aware of every component of her body, her chakra flow, herself. Korra’s feet meet the ground firmly, the vibrations from the hard earth reverberating over her skin and through her bones and it’s like she’s aware of the intricacies of the world around her.

It’s crazy, she knows. Ridiculous, even. When she’s surrounded by these… these… _elements_ , she just feels at one with herself and everything around her. She asks Tenzin about it occasionally, as he is a spiritual guru, but he always tells her about some legends about an Avatar that supposedly has dominion over the elements and whose duty it is to bring balance to the world.

These legends were written a few millennia ago; Korra cannot help but lean a little closer to the skeptical side than truly believe that _she_ of all the people in the world (around seven billion) is some sort of powerful being that is supposed to be some sort of peacekeeper for all nations to complain to.

And even if she was, Bending has been lost to humanity for some time now and every hunt for an Avatar has been met with failure.

Whatever, she just wants to go surf and be alone with her best friend for a little while.

Every time she lifts a foot and sets it down during her trek to the coast, she feels a little vibration and her skepticism crumbles just like the earth beneath her feet.

/

“Excuse me, Miss Sato; your father will be expecting you very soon.”

“How soon?” The young woman replies smoothly, her oil darkened hand grabs a wrench from the bag at her slender waist and she proceeds to tighten a bolt attached to her Satocycle’s powerful engine.

“Around forty-five minutes, Miss.” The butler looks uncomfortable out of the corner of the young woman’s eye; he looks as if he’s fighting to keep his hands to himself. She doesn’t blame him for being curious, as her private garage is very impressive and would have any car fanatic going crazy.

Three more cranks later, she faces the butler and sighs, “Wipe this down with a rag and have it ready for me,” she gestures to the grease covered bike, “And please tell my father that I’m not some dog to be whistled at and I’ll get there when I get there.”

Paling, the man’s face becomes fear stricken as he thinks about Mr. Sato’s response to his daughter’s rebellion, “Yes, ma’am.”

She smiles at him as she hands him the rag, “Thank you.”

/

Her shower lasts longer than she intends; really, it wasn’t to spite her father at all. Towel drying her raven locks, she sighs, maybe she should go easier on him. They have only had each other since her mother’s death and while she loves him, he just isn’t the same person.

His love is forced onto her like a torrential wind by a corrupt, power-hungry mind rather warm, loving heart and he is overwhelming, suffocating her with his so called _affection_. Her father, the president and founder of Future Industries, is molding her to succeed him and he attempts to force his beliefs onto her. He wants discrimination and disdain to be the backbone of the company, to hold it together like some sort of poisonous adhesive.

She refuses to be influenced by someone who is fueled by such negativity and who is prejudiced against an entire people because of one man’s senseless violence towards her mother. She used to be proud to have common characteristics with her father, but now she feels quite the opposite.

Benders are non-existent now, but Asami’s father holds contempt for descendants of people of the former bending nations. It’s childish and morally wrong, but the more Asami tries to save him the more her father sinks into a pit of hate and prejudice.

Dressing smartly for the Satocycle, the young heiress dons a pair of black leather pants that hug her supple, strong legs tightly and stuffs her feet in riding boots of the same color. A white V-neck is followed by a leather jacket and she grabs her helmet as she walks out the door and onto the drive way where her butler waits beside her shining bike.

Swinging her leg over the seat, she sees her reflection in the surface of the chrome accents. Every characteristic she shares with her father is plain on her face; the strong curve of her jaw, the narrowed shape of her jade eyes, and the intensity in her stare.

But his jaw is always set stubbornly, his narrowed eyes always hold contempt, and the intensity in his gaze is always crazed and angry.

Putting her helmet on, Asami is proud that she shares absolutely _nothing_ in common with the man who used to be her father.

/

Republic City is a glorified melting pot, where people of all ethnicities and heritages mix and mingle like swirling watercolors on a blank canvas. Everyone complements each other and, while every person is different, that fact is their greatest similarity. The mesh together and create something quite beautiful, each seemingly random stroke of color on the canvas flowing and fusing seamlessly into the _bigger picture_.

Still, Korra feels like a giant, sore, bleeding, red thumb in this supposedly diverse community.

Her dark complexion and her icy eyes cause fleeting glances in her direction, but she looks straight ahead ignoring the stares.

Heaven forbid there is someone with pure lineage in this city. Eyes fall on Korra again, sizing up her exotic appearance, and her pace speeds up, she jogs to the next intersection where busy cars prevent the people on the sidewalk from crossing.

Spirits, if she could get to the beach soon that would be great. To be away from these curious eyes would be heaven and the beach is just a bonus at this point.

The fat, glaring, red hand indicates to pedestrians that the road is unsafe to cross at the moment, but Korra has always been a rule breaker. Holding her board securely with Naga following loyally behind her, the Southern girl breaks through the throng of people towards the front of the mass waiting to cross.

Red hand still firm, Korra ignores it and begins to walk through the road in what she thinks is a lapse in traffic.

The Satocycle’s muffler-less engine proves Korra very wrong.

/

Asami is almost thirty minutes late to her father’s board meeting when she gets a call on her cell phone from the man himself. Her phone is synchronized with her helmet and the device rings clearly in her ears.

The wind whips angrily at dark waves as she answers the phone, turning around the bend in the street sharply.

“Asami, where the in _hell_ are you? We have an important decision to make and my successor is not even in the building.” He snarls at her, feral and crazed.

“I’ll get there when I get there, father.” She breaks at a light and sets her boot clad feet down on either side of her, supporting the weight between her legs.

“I’m getting sick of your insolence, Asami. I’ve given you everything you could possibly ask for and still you shove it back in my face. We’re going to have a serious talk about your needed attitude adjustment after the board meeting.”

Red changes quickly to green and Asami accelerates forward, listening as her father says with disappointment dripping like thick venom from his voice, “If your mother saw you now…”

Braking sharply, Asami snarls through the microphone piece in her helmet, “How dare you bring my mother into this conversation! You haven’t been my father since her death. And you know what, I’m driving and angry and if you want to have this conversation now you’re just going to jeopardize my safety.”

With a violent twist of her shoulders, Asami speeds down the next street and rocks spin up underneath the tires. The light about two hundred feet ahead of her is a vibrant green and she guns the clutch, the engine purring in ascent and pitching the woman forward.

“Asami Sato, you will not hang up on me!”

Her finger lets off of the brake long enough to end the call; she takes a moment to look to her right and let the sun flashing off of the ocean to calm her.

Sighing, she turns back to the road and her eyes widen. She’s twenty feet away from running directly into a pedestrian (and her abnormally large dog), the woman walking is looking at the heiress with a look of shock, but also with a look of determination and strength as she begins to dig her shoeless heels into the ground and lowers her center of gravity.

Time slows down and Asami’s fingers grasp tightly at the brakes, the smell of burning rubber fills the air with its sickly stench as the tires work to retain their sliding grip on the ground. Slender arms turn the handles of the bike ninety degrees and, in turn, the Satocycle slides forward horizontally, its speed decreasing marginally with the effort. In another desperate attempt to stop the piece of machinery from colliding with the young woman (and her companion), Asami’s expensive leather boot meets the pavement and slides against the ground.

The people around them must be screaming, but Asami can’t hear a thing other than the sound of screeching tires and she and the other woman’s breathe mingling together- they’re that close to each other.

It wasn’t enough, Asami was going way to fast to stop in time and this girl is going to be spread out like a pancake in the middle of this bustling street. All of Asami’s efforts feel as if they were in vain as the out of control hunk of metal barrels toward the teenager with eyes so blue Asami can look into their depths as she speeds wildly towards her.

Asami’s jade eyes close at the last second- the moment of impact, but it never comes.

/

Korra saves what she can.

Her hands shoot out bravely to stop the advance of the vehicle; and, though she is able to catch the two ends of the cycle and lessen the blow, the broad side of the vehicle slams relentlessly into her legs and she is pitched forward and then tossed roughly onto the black road. The asphalt scrapes her skin through the flimsy material of her t-shirt and scuffs the smooth skin of her back.

Metal crashes loudly against the ground and the sound of footsteps echoes as Korra’s savior/attacker approaches her. Naga growls dangerously at the woman, but once she notices that the large metal thing on the ground was the cause of her master’s injuries she begins to growl at that.

Asami’s knees hit the ground beside Korra’s head and the woman tosses her helmet to the side –she’s vaguely aware that her phone is ringing again- searching the beautiful woman’s face for signs of life.

“Uh…” Korra groans quietly as soft leather touches her face, “Spirits, that hurt.”

A stroke of the glove runs across the smooth and unmarred skin of her face, “Are you alright?”

Korra laughs, her blue orbs rolling behind the protection of her eyelids, “Is it sad to say I’ve felt worse?”

Asami helps the woman rise to a sitting position, her hand adjusted at Korra’s lower back for support, but when the Water Tribe Woman tries to stand Asami places a firm hand on her shoulder, “Not so fast. You could be really hurt… Just give yourself some time.”

The younger woman sits back on the ground, pain winding up the tender flesh of her back and legs. Her shoulders and legs ache from the impact of the vehicle and Korra’s is glad of Asami’s concern.

Korra’s ears are ringing with the shock of the blow, but she smiles and opens her eyes, “Thank you. I’m Korra.”

Black, deftly plucked brows pucker from concern to amusement, “I’m Asami.

“Funny running into you here.”

Laughter bubbles from the heiress, light and airy, and she shakes her head, her black tresses swinging, “I think I’m the one who ran into you.”

Asami frowns, glancing up and down the athlete’s body, checking for obvious signs of damage, “I’m really sorry, Korra. I was going way too fast.”

Waving a cut-up and bruised hand, Korra dismisses her apology with a carefree smile, “It’s no big deal. I’m the one who was walking in the middle of the road when the big, red hand told me not to.”

“I still feel bad. And I won’t feel any better until I get you some medical attention.” Asami begins to take out her cell phone. Korra’s calloused fingers close over the device.

“No, don’t call the ambulance. I’ll be fine; plus, I kinda just want to get away from all of these prying eyes. Do you think you can take me somewhere?” Korra’s eyes shine up at Asami, blue and bold and somehow the heiress can’t find it in herself to deny Korra.

“Sure.” Asami smiles softly at the grin breaking across Korra’s face.   It’s big and infectious and makes her feel like she’s seeing something truly special.

“Where do you want to go?”

/

After Korra dumps three tubes of Neosporin on the scrapes on her back and gets Asami to help her wrap the abrasions in gauze, the pair arrive at the restaurant of Korra’s choice.

“No, Asami, I don’t need to go to the hospital,” She says with a sigh as they stand in line at the convenience store with the Neosporin and the gauze. With a laugh and a rumble of her stomach Korra says, “Just get me some food; I’m absolutely starved.”

So, Asami does and they’re currently sitting at a shack-like restaurant across from the ocean with two bags of ice resting on Korra’s banged up legs and chips and salsa sitting between them.

“I’m really-“

“Asami, if you say you’re sorry again, I’m gonna throttle you.” Crunching a chip between her rows of bright, white teeth, Korra shakes her head in annoyance.

“I know… I just feel bad.”

The native wipes her mouth with a napkin and scoffs at the woman across from her, “I know it was an accident: I’m not too injured, Naga is fine, my surf board is undamage. Look, if it makes you feel any better I can let you pay for my leopard-tuna tacos. I’d rather have those than medical treatment anyway.”

Laughing Asami is caught off-guard when her cell-phone rings again, her father’s number sending the screen blinking and flashing. Korra raises her brows as Asami denies the call and shoves another chip into her mouth as she asks, “Anyone important?”

A frown flashes across the ebony haired woman’s beautiful features and she sighs sadly, “No. Not anymore.”

A silence falls over the table and Korra doesn’t like it, “Do you want to talk about it?” Her warm hand stretches across the table and strokes Asami’s gently.

“No.” The Water Tribe girl begins to pull away, her stunning blue eyes looking at the table in a dejected manner. Asami catches her hand, curling their fingers together, “What I meant was I don’t want to talk about it right now. Definitely later.”

Bronzed fingers squeeze her affectionately and Korra beams, “Later? Tomorrow? Like as a date?”

“Of course, Korra.”

Asami has absolutely no idea what makes her do it, but she brings the caramel hand to her lips and presses a soft kiss against the skin. Korra blushes and Asami’s questionable stunt of bravery is totally worth it.

/

Sometimes, when she feels especially homesick, Korra wears traditional clothes from the Southern Water Tribe around the city.   Of course, she has to make some alterations due to the difference in climate, but she’s proud of where she’s from so she wears furs and the blues of the South like a badge of honor.

And that’s how she arrives at Asami’s mansion, her nicest tribal garb (a swim suit underneath) with her surf board and an extra strapped to the roof Tenzin’s car that he allowed her to borrow with Naga forever following by her hand.

Stepping up to the front door she lets out a nervous huff and twists the knob (Asami told her the day before to come straight inside). Korra looks at Naga with a knowing look and the dog grasps a bouquet of flowers between her jaws, walking forward as her master enters the overwhelming mansion.

Yelling, angry voices echo through the enormous house and Korra’s face shifts mechanically from excitement to concern. She can recognize Asami’s voice, but the gruff, masculine voice is unfamiliar to her.

Running down the large staircase parallel to the front door, Asami runs to Korra tears streaming down her face. The young heiress envelopes the Water Tribe girl in a desperate embrace, her wet face burying into Korra’s tank-top. A powerful looking man with salt and pepper hair charges behind Asami, his face becoming beet red with rage as his daughter hangs around Korra’s neck.

It’s well-orchestrated screaming match between a father and daughter and though Korra’s timing is extremely inappropriate, as Asami is sobbing into the skin of her shoulder, her blue eyes just can’t help but appreciate just how stunning Asami looks.

Her red dress is casual and short, stopping at her mid thighs, but not trashy and it ties behind Asami’s neck just like the heiress’ black bathing suit top underneath the smooth fabric. Honestly, Korra’s a little resentful in regard to the black high heels that the elder woman sports; she’s already a few inches taller than Korra, but now, the height difference is just ridiculous.

Even as Asami’s shining, black tresses hide her classically beautiful face when Korra brushes the hair away from the taller woman’s crying eyes she still sees Asami’s resolute affection for her through the pools of tears and layers of hurt.

It’s selfish of Korra, but she feels reassured and she holds onto Asami a little tighter.

“Asami Sato, you get off of the savage this moment.”

Wait, “savage”? Korra knows she’s not the bring-home-to-parents type of girlfriend, but “savage” is a little over the top. Granted, her hide and fur clothing with her tribal hair beads don’t support her “not a savage” cause, but she really didn’t expect to have to defend the fact that she is a civilized human being. And who says that any way? She opens her mouth to reply, embarrassed flush creeps across her darkened cheeks, but she’s cut off by Asami shaky, but passionate response.

“Don’t call her that! She’s the one acting like a civil human being while you’re acting like petulant child calling my girlfriend names. Just because she’s a direct descendant of an ancient Bending Tribe you immediately label her in the same category as the man who killed my mother.”

Korra’s blood runs cold at the new found information, she had no idea… But then again, she’s only known Asami for a couple of days. Now that she thinks about it, large bruises are forming on her legs where the Satocycle hit her. In her opinion, getting hit by a ton of metal was worth it since she had the opportunity to meet Asami in the process.

“I loved your mother, Asami! Everything I did after her death was for her! Everything! Every time I was hateful towards someone of bender descent was to honor her memory! They don’t deserve a place in this world.”

Asami stands fully; rising off of Korra’s comforting form and glaring fully at her father, “Do you even hear yourself? You discriminate to _honor_ mom? Mom would never hate just because of one person’s actions.”

Asami’s father, glaring behind his glasses says with hate spilling out of his mouth, “So what? All of them are just horrible and violent and ignorant. They think they’re better than those who never had bending as a part of their heritage. When was the last time they contributed anything to society other than violence?”

She glares back, “You’re making generalizations about an entire population dad. And even if they were all bad, Korra isn’t and you should respect my decision to be with her. I mean, I ran her over with the bike and she didn’t even get upset or sue. People who are ‘horrible and violent and ignorant’ don’t tell someone their alright when they’ve been run over.”

It’s difficult for Korra to watch this. Her own family was torn apart for a different reason, but watching as this unfolds before her, she knows she is lucky that at least her parents still alive and love her, even if she doesn’t see them as often as she would like at least she has them in her life.

Asami begins shaking her head, her soft fingers brushing away the tears that had spilled onto her pale cheeks. Her free hand grabs Korra’s and she calmly says to her, “Come on, Korra. I’m not going to let you be subjected to my father’s insult any longer.”

As Korra is pulled away from the man by Asami, she whistles sharply through her teeth and whispers, “Naga, come.”

Mr. Sato turns his back to them as Asami and Korra walk out the front door of the mansion.

/

Asami drives them to the beach, the moon hanging high overhead and the stars lighting up the night as the couple ride to a hidden spot that Korra found when she first came to Republic City. The tires of Tenzin’s borrowed vehicle spin up sand behind them and Asami’s expertise prevents them from getting stuck.

Korra’s glad, driving is a skill she has trouble grasping and having the opportunity to watch Asami is something that Korra always appreciates.

Blue eyes search Asami’s face and Korra can see that though she appears calm on the outside, her emerald irises still reflect with the sheen of unshed tears and her smiling mouth seems a little less sincere than Korra prefers.

Her hands shake slightly on the steering wheel as the pair parks at the entrance of a small cove, away from prying eyes.

Leaning over, Korra’s bangs brush Asami’s bare shoulder as she places her lips right next to Asami’s ear. She licks her lips and it sends a flush across Asami’s pale skin, “It’s alright, Asami. Your dad won’t scare me away.” She presses her lips against the elder woman’s cheek and it lingers behind, burning Asami’s flesh pleasantly.

Korra sheds her shirt and pants, muscles flexing deliciously as Asami watches the beginnings of a true smile manifesting itself on her façade. Korra grins up at the heiress and asks with a smooth arch of her eyebrow, “Swim with me?”

/

The water is warm and it tastes salty on Korra’s lips. The mixture of Korra’s sweetness and the brine of the water is addictive and Asami can’t get enough. Their lips meet again and Asami’s arms coil around Korra’s waist as their lips embraced in a passionate kiss.

Asami breaks away, pulling Korra towards the shore where a bed of white sand and Naga waits patiently for the pair. Relaxing on the ground first, Asami giggles when Korra follows her down, resting lazily on top of her. Their legs tangle together, sand clinging to their wet skin.

“Having fun?”

Asami touches Korra’s clay hair ornament fondly, pressing a kiss to her lips, “Absolutely.” A pause. “I’m sorry about my dad.”

Rolling off of Asami, Korra sighs, “Asami, in this day and age, I’ve learned that you have to take what you want and not worry about other people and how they feel about it. And right now, I want you and, if you’ll have me, I’m going to date you regardless of what your father thinks.”

Beaming Asami replies, “In this day and age? What are you? Seventy?”

Korra laughs, “No, but I do have a feeling that a lot of people over the years have lost their chance worrying about all the negatives instead of the one positive that would have made all of the cons worth it.”

“You’re right,” Asami stands, the moon behind her head, making her black locks shine and she holds her hand out to Korra, “Are you going to teach me how to surf or what?”

Laughing and reaching for her well-manicured hand, Korra can’t help but think that being hit with Asami’s bike was the best thing that ever happened to her.

Even if she’s sore as hell.

 


	2. How Country Feels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're as different as a slow, country night and fast, city morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Country Korra and City Asami for you.

How Country Feels  
Saturday  
Shillelagh (pronounced Shi-lay-lee by the people around this sleepy town) Road is a narrow, two lane back road that bends sharply and sporadically like the body of a python trying to suffocate its next meal. The edges of the worn asphalt are beginning to crumble into the ditches along the sides of the road and Asami’s car is being beaten by the numerous amount of potholes dug into the eroding path.   
The young woman is breaking a sweat trying to keep her company car on the road that is notorious fatal collisions as she speaks to her father through an earpiece that is synced up to her cell phone, “Dad, I still don’t understand why I had to come all the way out here to Podunk, USA from Republic City to talk to some hick farmer.”  
There’s a sigh in her ear. “We’ve been over this, Asami; you’re going to be Future Industries’ new CEO after I retire. I’ve built this corporation to last, with a base comprised of many small contributors and if we aren’t loyal to every Farmer Joe and Small Business Bobby then everything I’ve worked for will go up in smoke.” He pauses, letting the gravity of his words sink in and then he adds: “And I wouldn’t call their town Podunk if I were you; southerners are very prideful people.”  
His voice buzzes again, “Asami, I need you to represent me when you speak to Mr. Tonraq about his corn surplus. We’re hoping to buyout his harvest to create an even better and earth-friendly ethanol based fuel for the Satomobile Industry.”  
The heiress narrowly avoids some jackass in a lifted truck who seems to think he’s entitled to the middle of the road as she rides around a particularly sharp bend. After a few more moments, the GPS set into the dashboard instructs Asami to turn down a dirt road and notifies her that she has two hundred feet until she reaches her destination.   
Fields of freshly cut grass surround the dirt driveway that leads to two buildings: One is a two-story building with white paint that is peeling off of the siding with a wrap-around porch and the other is a large weathered barn large enough to hold what looks like multiple tractors and an old truck the color of faded denim. Behind the latter of the two is what seems to be a stable and a small fenced in area. Nearly fifteen acres of cornfields encase the two main buildings and the stable area; and, though this type of place is considered a small town, Asami feels like she’s the tiny one. She can’t imagine what has to be done to keep this place up and running.  
A slight figure in a t-shirt so dirty that it can’t be considered white anymore walks out of the large barn, carrying a huge bale of hay around the other side of the building towards the stables. Brown work boots kick up clouds of dust as the worker transports the cube of hay to the stable; bits of hay fall to the ground before the person pitches it into a horse’s stall.   
Shifting the car into park, Asami breathes into her ear piece, “I’m here, dad. I’m going to call you back later.”  
“Enjoy your time in the Boondocks, Asami.”  
She tosses the earpiece into cup holder and she exits the black sedan with the slam of the door. Her heels are unstable on the dirt and gravel path that leads to the barn and her black slacks become brown at the hem due to the dust. Asami strides over to the building where the farm hand rests against the siding, a brown bottle of something between their lips.  
As she approaches, Asami doesn’t have the chance to introduce herself as the bill of the faded blue Atlanta Braves cap raises and the worker says, “Hey, how can I help y’all?”  
The worker is a female, her voice is laced with a thick drawl and she can’t seem to be able to refrain from singing the vowel sounds in her speech. Strong consonants disappear fluently at the end of every word, leading seamlessly into the next heavily accented word. To Asami, it’s a pleasant relief from the abrasive and staccato accents that she hears in Republic City.  
She remembers her voice, “Hello, I’m Asami Sato with Future Industries. I’m here to talk to Mr. Tonraq about the possibility of him selling the surplus of his corn harvest to us this year.”  
Taking off her cap allows Asami to finally see the face of the person she’s speaking to. Her long ponytail spills fluidly out of her hat and the sun glares off of her dark brown locks that frame her face. Blue eyes shine up at her, almost as brightly as the young woman’s megawatt grin that contrasts with the tan of her skin. Those eyes never leave Asami’s as the farmer removes her gloves and offers her dirty, calloused hand with mud crammed underneath her short, stubby nails to the heiress.  
Asami closes her own unblemished hand around the girl’s and gives it a firm shake as the worker introduces herself, “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Korra and Tonraq is my daddy.” She steps back and frowns, “But I’m sorry to tell you that he and my mother are out of town until Thursday; it’s their anniversary.”  
Asami sighs in annoyance, “Great. Well, I’ll just head back to Republic City and come back next week then. Thank you, Korra.” She turns her back and begins to head back in the direction of the Satomobile.  
Before Asami can stumble back to sedan on her shaky stilettoes, the cowgirl grabs at her wrist. The elder of the two stumbles at the sudden action, but Korra’s firm grip keeps her from tumbling in the dirt and the latter laughs charmingly. Asami straightens as Korra continues to chuckle, saying, “You know, you could just stay here and wait with me for a few days until Tuesday when my daddy comes back to talk business with you. Plus, gas prices are through the roof right now and you drove her all the way from Republic City,” She says it with a sort of disdain, “It’d be such a waste for you to just turn around and then have to come back in a few days.”  
Asami’s plucked brows pull together, “I’m sorry, but I have to go back to work.”  
Korra’s eyes shine mischievously and Asami can’t help but feel a little charmed, “You’re telling me you’d rather go back to your desk job with a stuffy business suit and heels that kill your feet than be here with all of this?”  
Korra casts her tan arm around her, gesturing to the sun setting slowly behind rows of corn, to the rushing waters of a river where a rope swing waits, and to the winding dirt road that promises to take Asami God-Knows-Where. The sun’s glare reflects gently off of the windows of the cozy looking house and Asami feels her resolve failing slightly. Everything feels like it’s ten times slower and relaxing; it’s a pleasant change from the fast pace set in Republic City.  
She shakes her head, her darks waves bouncing off of her shoulders with the motion, “I have responsibilities, Korra.”  
Korra laughs, taking a sip of the amber liquid in the brown bottle and smiling crookedly. She can’t help but think that the setting sun that reflects off of Asami’s green eyes is incredibly sexy. “Asami, can I ask you something?”  
“You will anyway.” She looks down at Korra, a small smile curling the corners of her lips.  
“You’re right.” Korra looks down at her ball cap; the red bill is frayed on the edges and the white “A” in the center is colored tan from nearly a decade’s worth of dirt and dust. The blue skull of the hat is long faded from its original brilliant blue due to the years of wear and tear. “Is your job gonna be there when you go back? Is the stock market gonna crash in a less week? Is Future Industries gonna fail while you’re gone?”  
She hesitates for only a moment and looks down at Korra, “No.” For some reason it clicks in her brain that Korra is nearly half a foot shorter than Asami without heels and the heiress finds pleasure in the fact.  
The farmer’s daughter smirks knowingly in response, “Then stay a while. Take a load off. Let me show you how country feels.” She stands on her toes and places the worn cap securely on Asami’s head.  
/  
Sunday  
It is the first time in quite a while that Asami wakes up early without an alarm. Granted, the smell and sizzle of bacon frying was much more effective at rousing her than the annoying beep of her cellphone.   
She yawns, her arms stretching languidly above her head that is crowned with a halo of black, disheveled waves. The savory smell motivates her to move and her body moves of its own accord as her feet meet the cool wood flooring of the quant, yet cozy spare bed room that Korra had provided for her.  
She stands, pulling her sleep shorts down from where they had been creeping up her narrow waist. After rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Asami goes into the attached bathroom and runs a comb through her locks and brushes her teeth before heading down the creaky stairs.   
The radio is on, playing some country tune that Asami has never really heard of and Korra is dancing around the kitchen with a dish towel thrown over her shoulder and a spatula in her hand. The farmer is already dressed for the day in a light blue V-neck and a pair of denim jeans that hug her strong legs so well that Asami knows that they have been worn hundreds of times before. Her boots clunk around the kitchen as she cooks the large breakfast for herself and her guest.  
The signature Braves hat sits backwards on her brunette hair, white flour dusting the bill and the sienna plume of hair that spills out of the cap. Spinning in a circle, Korra finally sees Asami and her eyes crinkle in a true smile as she says, “Hey, trouble! How’d you sleep?”  
Asami smiles back as Korra’s utter happiness is absolutely infectious. “Honestly, I slept better than I have in a long time. I understand why they call places like this “Sleepy Towns”.”  
Korra flips a pancake and laughs a little, “Well, I’m glad. I know you only planned to stay one day so I was planning on taking you into town so we could get you some clothes. My treat, of course.” She puts the pancakes on a plate and sets the stack in the middle of the table along with the rest of the breakfast and sits in one of the chairs, gesturing to the one across from her.  
Asami sits about to reply when Korra continues, “But I forgot it was Sunday and nothing in this place is open on a Sunday. So I figured that you could just borrow some of my clothes and we could hang out down by the river after breakfast for the rest of the day.”  
Asami smiles at the girl across from her and nods enthusiastically, “I’d love to.”  
“Alright then, let’s eat!”   
Asami goes to grab her fork, but Korra’s rough hand intercepts hers and before Asami can say anything Korra begins mumbling a prayer of thanks to God, the sunlight shinning down on the peaceful scene. After a few moments of Korra’s voice drawling slowly through the prayer, the brunette releases both of her hands and gives a small smile.  
“Sorry about that, I hope I didn’t offend you or anything. It’s just I’ve never not prayed before a meal and I don’t wanna start now.” She sighs, looking out the window by the sink, looking slightly ashamed of herself. “I’m not really all that spiritual to be honest, but I’ve always been surrounded by it. Pastor Tenzin says that I’m not devout enough, but I can’t help it! I’m a short fuse and I have more faith in me than I do in some untouchable God. It’s frustrating.”  
Asami cocks her head and places her hand atop Korra’s tightly clenched fist which she notes relaxes a little under her touch, “Don’t worry, Korra. I’m not offended. I completely understand what you mean about having faith in yourself. I’m the same way.”  
Pulling away, she spoons some sugared peaches onto her plate as she speaks, “I’ve always depended on my own ability to pave the way for myself. I’ve never been really religious either and I find it crazy that people can sit around and wait for God to hand them everything.” She winks across from her at Korra, groaning as she pops a peach into her mouth, “That’s delicious. But like I was saying, I’m more like you; independent and impatient.”  
“Never would’ve pegged you as the impatient type.”  
Asami laughs, eyeing Korra as the farmer’s daughter sips her sweet tea and replies, “You’ve never seen me drive.”  
Before she can stop herself, Korra blurts, “I hope I can learn more about you. I wanna know everything.”  
The heiress looks taken aback, but she smiles anyway, “Absolutely. But don’t pretend anymore. I want to get to know the Korra that isn’t as religious as she should be.”   
Her blue eyes shine a little brighter in response and Korra beams, “Alright then, Asami. I promise that I won’t ever pretend with you.”  
Korra gives a gentle yet firm squeeze to her hand and Asami has no doubt that Korra is gonna stay true to her word. It makes her a little giddy and she bites into some of the pancakes with a smile.  
/  
Later that day, they take Korra’s old, blue truck down to the river at the back side of the property through a trail in the rows of corn that is barely wide enough for the gas guzzling monster to drive through.   
It doesn’t handle at all like the Satomobiles that have recently come out on the market, jerking and bumping at the slightest patch of uneven ground and it’s so old that it doesn’t have controlled heating and air. But Asami is charmed by the numerous pictures of Korra and her friends and family that are taped haphazardly to the dashboard across from the passenger’s seat. Half empty sports drinks and waters roll around in the floorboards and when Korra attempts to shift manually between second and third gear the transmission sticks just a little bit. Old clothes and towels have been forgotten and they sit listlessly in the backseat, harboring stories of parties that Korra seems to have forgotten about when Asami asks her.  
It’s funny, Asami thinks, that this truck has more character and personality than some of the business men and women that she had been working with just last week.   
Sunlight glances off of the rushing waters of the river as the pair approaches the body of water that is more like a large creek than an actual river. It’s about thirty yards across and about a quarter mile down the river dumps into a small lake that Asami can guess has been the venue for many teenage parties.  
Korra shifts into park and she reaches into the back seat, grabbing the two clean towels and the cooler they had packed before they made their journey. Asami watches, quietly appreciating the swell of Korra’s muscles as the latter stretches for the objects.  
It’s midday and the heat is nearly unbearable as the heiress and the cowgirl clamber out of the lifted truck, dust kicking up from Asami’s borrowed cowboy boots as she lands. Since Asami had only packed for business, she’s wearing Korra’s clothes which smell like cheap bars of soap and honeysuckles (Korra’s addicted to tasting the sweet blossom from what she’s told Asami).   
The blue plaid shirt, tied loosely at her belly button is a little too large in the shoulders and arms for Asami. She imagines that Korra’s arms must be large and strong from years of hard work on the farm and she shivers as she pictures them around her waist.   
The denim shorts are loose on her and they fall away from her hips and keep exposing her cotton undergarments. Asami pulls the cut-offs up again and she knows that while she’s fit in a long and lean way, Korra’s muscles are larger, thicker cords of tissue that make her legs bulky and her butt curvy and firm. It’s no wonder that they keep falling off of her slender hips. The image of Korra in the short denim cut-offs seems much more suitable.  
Asami stares blankly at the lazy river in front of her when in reality she’s picturing Korra without clothes on. The farmer’s daughter snaps her fingers in front of Asami’s lost eyes and gives an alluring smile, “You still here, Asami? I thought I lost you for a minute there.”   
Said girl shakes her head and blinks her eyes, driving the appealing images from her mind and smiles back, “Sorry, I just got a little distracted.”  
Korra sighs, the bill of her hat shading the sun from her eyes, “You better not be thinking about work!” Korra lays the towels across the branch of a large weeping willow and opens the cooler, cracking open a beer for herself and for Asami.  
Asami takes the beverage and mumbles, “Trust me; work is the last thing on my mind.” Taking a sip, she smiles around the top as the icy liquid refreshes her.  
“Good. Now, let’s get out these clothes and into the water. It’s hotter than hell out here.” After another swig of the beer, Korra shimmies out her jeans and pulls her blue shirt over her head. Knocking her hat off, Korra ignores it and begins to take the ponytail out of her hair.  
Her white bathing suit is vibrant against her dark, caramel skin and the muscles that Asami had been dreaming about early relax lazily against her tanned flesh. Halfway up her bicep, the dark bronzed skin of her arm fades drastically due to Korra’s t-shirt preference. Korra’s body, though short, is clearly strong and curvaceous in all of the right places and Asami can’t find her breath.   
Korra walks over to Asami, wringing her recently picked up cap in her hands as she looks up to the taller woman. “Remember how I told you that I wouldn’t pretend with you anymore?” Blue eyes stare evenly at Asami’s, determination swimming in their depths and Asami barely notices that she is nodding.  
Wetting her lips, Korra replies, “Good. Well, come on, trouble. Get in the water with me.” For a second time, Korra fits the hat onto Asami’s head and her rough fingers go to the fastening of Asami’s too loose shorts. Her deft fingers unsnap the garment and the denim slides over Asami’s slender legs and pool onto the ground.  
The heiress doesn’t make an attempt to stop Korra, doesn’t even make an attempt to breathe as the darker skinned girl unties Asami’s flannel shirt and pushes the material off of her shoulders. It falls to the ground next to her shorts and Asami stands in her burgundy bra and pantie set (she always feels more in control if her undergarments match) with a girl she just met barely a foot away from her.  
Korra’s beer laced breath dances across her collarbone and raises goosebumps along her pale flesh, which is absolutely ridiculous because it’s nearly a hundred degrees outside. But Asami can’t help it because Korra’s piercing blue eyes rake over her body as she stands nearly naked in front of her and she likes the way Korra looks at her.   
With a slight cough, the southern breaks Asami from her paralysis and grabs her hand with her own, “C’mon, Asami. I’m sweating my ass off!”  
/  
Early Monday Morning  
Hours roll by as the sun circles the cloudless sky and its pale twin rises in the sky. The woods to east block out most of the moonlight’s glow, but slots of light slip through the towering vegetation. The previously clear water of the river now looks inky and black with the absence of sunlight and the pair of girls sits in the headlights of Korra’s truck.  
The numerous beers begin to catch up with them and they find themselves leaning against one another, laughter bubbling drunkenly from their lips. The Braves hat sits backwards on Asami’s still damp hair and Korra’s eyes fall on it in appreciation. Before she can stop her loose lips, Korra says quietly, “You know, you’re the only person other than me who’s worn that hat right there.” She nods with an uncharacteristically sober look on her face.  
Even as tipsy as she is at this moment, Asami can still recognize the gravity of Korra’s comment and she decides it’s better if she waits for Korra to speak first. She doesn’t have to wait long as the brunette sighs and says with a determined expression, “When I saw you,” she hiccups, “I knew that I wanted you and I know that sounds selfish, but I wanted you. And when you wanted to leave, I didn’t want you to go. Don’t ask me why, but I didn’t.”  
She takes a big gust of air in and she turns to Asami, her brown plume of hair swishing with the motion, “You told me not to pretend so I’m gonna keep my word.” Her brilliant blue eyes are glazed from the alcohol and Asami feels even more unstable as her own emerald irises meet them. Korra is looking more and more sober as the moments tick by.  
“I’m gonna kiss you, Asami, and you gotta deal with it.”   
Korra shifts over, her stocky form easily overpowering Asami and her arms cage the taller woman who is lying back against the towel they have spread across the ground. The Major League Baseball emblem stitched into Korra’s hat is centered on Asami’s forehead and Korra smiles when she notices just how intimate it is that she let someone she’d just met wear something that special to her.   
Surprisingly, Asami looks relatively calm underneath Korra’s dominating stance despite her furrowed brows and the confusion in her green eyes. Korra’s fingers run almost timidly through her black hair and Asami is quite frankly, a little pissed.   
Korra made this grand speech and overpowered her and all of a sudden when Asami expects to be kissed like she deserves, the girl just stops and gets all timid? The heiress is not having that.  
Her green eyes glare up at Korra who looks a little taken aback and Asami growls forcefully, “Well, are you gonna kiss me or not?”  
Laughing, Korra lunges down to Asami’s mouth almost violent and mashes their lips together. Asami’s hand runs along the fluttering muscles in Korra’s jaw as the latter nips at her bottom lip. Closing her eyes, Asami sighs into her mouth as Korra’s lips become more enthusiastic, moving relentlessly.  
They kiss lazily for a few more moments before Korra stumbles to a stand and she leads Asami over to the truck. Haphazardly balling up a dirty sheet, Korra places the fabric underneath Asami’s head as a sort of cushion.   
They linger like that for a few moments, hands petting each other heavily. Korra’s calloused finger’s slide gently over Asami’s sweaty skin while Asami’s manicured fingers bite harshly into Korra’s flesh with each rushed, zealous kiss.  
One last kiss sedates Asami and before she knows it, the buzz of the alcohol overwhelms her and she falls asleep with Korra’s dark hair pooling across her chest.  
/  
Monday Noon  
The sun shines brightly in the high-noon sun, a promise of another day of hard work and an honest living and when Asami wakes up (aching from the unforgiving hardness of the truck bed) the farmer’s daughter is already on the move about the farm.  
Barely able to see the worker from this distance, Asami packs up the garbage from yesterday and tosses the empty beer bottles in a plastic trash full of cans and other recyclables in the back of truck. She clambers into the driver’s seat, moving the seat backwards to give her legs some extra room and begins to drive over towards the front of the property where Korra is attempting to fix the rotting wooden gate that swings open into the driveway.   
Always a quick to understand technology, Asami quickly adjusts to the manual transmission and makes it to the front of the property without even stalling and hops out of truck with a stupid smile on her face that she just hasn’t been able to remove from her face since she got here. However, when her bare feet land on the gravel path she does cringe a little bit.   
After hearing the slam of the car door, Korra turns with a smile, wiping the sweat from her brow. Asami smiles at her, a pink flush flooding her cheeks, “Morning, Korra.”  
“Hey, trouble. Sorry I had to leave you so early this morning; I had to get some stuff done. How’d you sleep?”  
“Well, while the truck is charming and rugged, it most definitely is not all the comfortable.”  
Korra wipes her hands on her jeans and walks up to the young woman, pressing a smooth kiss to her cheek and smiles, “Sorry. I was thinking that after I get this fixed,” she gestures to the disassembled gate, “We could go into town and get you some clothes, if you want.”  
It’s then that Asami realizes that she’s still only wearing her slightly damp underwear set from yesterday and she feels oddly comfortable around Korra in her state of undress. Hand moving to run through her knotty raven locks, Asami’s fingers knock into the hat, reminding her immediately of its presence.   
“That sounds great. Do you need any help?” She grips the bill and takes it off of her head, disheveled curls tumbling prettily around her angular face.   
Korra’s mouth closes and opens. Closes and opens. No words come out as she takes in Asami’s appearance. Her dark locks make Korra think that she spent the night between the sheets and her vibrant emerald eyes contrast with the darkness of her hair. Plump lips are slightly swollen from Korra’s bruising, drunken kisses and it sends a pang of regret through Korra’s core.   
“Asami?”  
“Hm?”  
The southerner grimaces, “You don’t think I took advantage of you or anything last night, do you? I mean, we were both kind of drunk so I just want to make sure.”  
In a stunt of what Asami decides she will always consider the defining moment of her sexual prowess, she steps forward pressing her long, lean body up against Korra’s and stoops down to the younger girl for a searing kiss. Lips crush Korra’s own and a tongue so strong and dominating subdues her so fast that the farm girl can’t even think to reciprocate the action. Once she finally gets her wits about her, the heiress pulls away with her plucked brows sharply raised.  
“Don’t be ridiculous, Korra. You wouldn’t be able to make me do anything I didn’t want to.” And Korra believes her beyond a shadow of a doubt.  
/  
Unfortunately, Korra is an absolutely horrible singer and they wind down Shillelagh road with the windows down in the truck and the radio up as loud as it can go with Korra singing along to every song that comes on. Asami sits, relaxed against the cracked leather seats and the wind whipping at her hair as she watches the other girl from the corner of her eye. Korra beams at the amused expression on Asami’s face and frowns when she notices that Asami isn’t singing along with her.  
“What? Do you not like country music?” Korra sighs as Asami’s hand slides over her thigh, giving it a faint squeeze.   
Asami shrugs in nonchalance, “When I was growing up, I was stuck in the most prestigious private schools and martial arts classes. My father wanted to mold me into the most well-rounded individual he could, so, other than classical music and my own music I played on the piano during lessons and practice, music was never really anything I had time to indulge in. Just wasn’t a part of my life.”  
As she rolls smoothly around a hairpin turn, Korra looks at Asami in disbelief and shakes her head incredulously, “Man, you city-folk are strange. I can’t imagine my life without music. Well, you’re gonna like country music and you gotta deal with it.”  
Asami laughs as the stop at a red light, “Why do you always say that? ‘You gotta deal with it’.”  
Brilliant blue eyes crinkle in a fond smile, “Before I was born, my dad really wanted a boy. He wanted one bad. He was madder than hell when I turned out to be a girl. My mom swears to this day that when I came out and looked at my dad I had my arms crossed over my chest and my eyes narrowed. When my mama saw me, she said that I looked like I was about to tell him ‘You gotta deal with it’.”   
Shrugging, Korra continues, “I’ve said that for as long as I can remember.”  
/  
When they park at one of the old meters on the main road in town, it’s almost three in the afternoon and it’s completely deserted.  
While the extravagance of the big city is something that Asami is familiar with, she’s caught off guard by how pleasant and relaxing it is to be surrounded by all these quant shops and family run restaurants. It’s lazy and charming and Asami feels at home when Korra’s fingers lock with hers and the native leads her through the wooden door of one of the smaller shops on the boulevard.  
The apparel store is separated into two halves: One half for the men and the other for the women. Lined on shelves against the wall are rows of cowboy boots of varying heights and leather while racks of cheap shirts and flannels plus blouses for the women sit in the middle of the room. On the other wall, leather belts, buckles, and (of course) cowboy hats as well as other accessories lay in wait.  
Korra sighs, cringing a little, “I know it ain’t what you’re used to, but I figured you were tired of wearing my clothes.” She gestures to the too loose shorts and t-shirt on the other girl. “So I brought you here. Get whatever you want.”  
They search around the store and Asami grabs a few things, trying them on before bundling in the items in her arms and preparing to checkout. “Uh, where’s the cashier?”  
“Korra!”  
A megawatt smile cracks across the brunette’s face as the store clerk calls to her from the backroom. The boy, around nineteen or twenty in appearance is stocky and sturdy looking and his green shirt enhances the chartreuse of his wide eyes. When he looks at Asami, his eyes twinkle in interest and he turns his attention to Korra, wiggling his black brows as he says, “Well, Korra. You’ve really outdone yourself this time. Care to introduce us?”  
Korra glares at the young man, twisting her hat around as she grumbles, “Asami, this is my friend Bolin.”  
Asami offers her hand to shake, surprised by the gentleness of Bolin’s huge paw, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bolin.”  
Bolin smiles, a teasing air to his voice as he recognizes her accent, “A city girl! You in town for business or pleasure?” His green eyes shift back and forth between Asami and his lifelong friend.  
Asami chuckles lowly, “A bit of both, I suppose. But how was I to resist Korra’s… southern hospitality.” It’s strange to think that Saturday was only a few days ago and Tuesday is approaching quickly: Asami will have to do her business and leave Korra. Her smirk wavers a little.  
The boy laughs, charmed by Asami’s quick witted response, “I like her, Korra. You should keep this one around for a while.”  
Korra shoves Bolin in annoyance, “Just check her stuff out so we can get out of here, Bo.”  
He pouts; looking remarkably close to a kid as he takes the ball of clothes from Korra and scans them. “I’m just messing with you, Korra. I’m happy to see you with someone a little less infuriating than my brother, finally.”  
Rolling her azure eyes, Korra takes out some cash and pays Bolin, “Yeah, I know. Look, I’d love to stay and chew the cud with you, but I’m so hungry I could eat the north end of a south bound mule so me and Asami are gonna head out of here and go to Tenzin’s place for lunch.”  
“Alright, see you around! It’s nice to meet you, Asami.”  
/  
Asami changes into her new clothes in Korra’s truck and it’s difficult for Korra to watch when the loose denim of her borrowed shorts slides off of her skin and puddles in the dirty floor board. Her bra and underwear are stormy gray against Asami’s pale skin and Korra’s mouth waters as the business woman’s lithe body arches and flexes with the effort to clothe herself.  
The denim cut-offs barely cover her shapely behind and the tight, plaid shirt allows the skin of her flat stomach to flash with each motion. Buttoning up the blouse, Asami finishes changing and sends Korra a questioning look with her brows pulled together in confusion.   
The brim of her hat shadows Korra’s lusty gaze and, under the heat of her eyes, Asami realizes how hot it is in the cabin of the truck. Drops of sweat accumulate on her exposed collarbone and slide lower, glossing over her porcelain swell of her breasts. Slowly sweeping her dark hair over one shoulder, Asami’s emerald eyes narrow back at the cowgirl in a challenge, “Is there something I can help you with?”  
“You’re asking for it, Ms. Sato.”  
“And what’s that?” The sweat causes Korra’s t-shirt to cling uncomfortably to her skin.  
Korra slides across the seat smoothly, kissing Asami’s plump lips aggressively. Strong teeth tug at Asami’s lips and she groans when Korra adjusts on top of her, straddling her with legs corded with muscles that flutter against her.   
Her rough hands clutch at Asami’s angular jaw, pulling her closer as Korra’s hips roll flush against Asami’s. Their lips press together with almost as little control as they had when they were drunk at the lake and Korra’s breath catches when Asami’s bold fingers begin to skate upwards, underneath the hem of her t-shirt.  
Manicured nails are just meeting the fabric of Korra’s bra when her stomach growls loudly. Its horrible timing automatically kills the mood and Korra blushes into Asami’s neck as the business woman laughs at her, “Hungry, Korra?”  
Korra’s sinewy legs relax beside Asami’s, “Well, now that you mention it…”  
Asami laughs, placing a chaste kiss on her lips, “Come on, we’ll get some lunch and continue this conversation later.”  
Asami winks and then cringes when Korra’s head bangs into the rood, stating, “And maybe in a more comfortable environment.”  
/  
Monday Late Afternoon  
Instead of having a late lunch like they had planned, they stroll into Tenzin’s restaurant which is pretty crowded considering the desertion of the streets outside and decide on an early dinner. Asami squirms, feeling a little out of place as the customers identify her as someone who isn’t a local.   
Tenzin strolls up to Korra smiling politely in Asami’s direction, “Korra, it’s good to see you. You missed Sunday’s service at church; everyone was missing you.” Tenzin sweeps his arm at the trio of children bickering behind the cash register.  
She frowns in shame, wanting nothing more than to please a man who is as much of a father figure as her biological father, “I’m sorry, Pastor Tenzin. I was entertaining a guest. Sir, I’d like to introduce you to Asami Sato.”  
Tenzin’s bushy brows rise up to his bald head, “Asami Sato? The daughter of Hiroshi Sato? The heiress to Future Industries?”  
The woman smiles begrudgingly, shaking Tenzin’s hand firmly, “Yes, sir.”   
His voice is gruff when he yells at Meelo to stop chewing on one of the menus, but it softens when he responds, “It’s a pleasure, Miss Sato. I hope you don’t mind I ask why you’re all the way out here.”  
Korra frowns, her fingers brushing against Asami’s knuckles and Asami smiles in response, “Just doing business. Until Korra decided to show me the charm that this country town holds. In fact, she had just been telling me that I needed to have some ‘proper barbeque’ from your restaurant.” Tenzin’s pride swells a little and Asami smiles at him, “We were hoping we could get two of Korra’s usual orders to go.”  
The pastor/restaurant owner bows nobly and scurries off to the kitchen. Korra whistles appreciatively through her teeth, arching a brow at the taller woman. With a wink, Asami whispers secretively, “There’s a reason my father always has me meeting potential business partners. You should know, I can be pretty convincing when I have to be.”  
And with Asami’s alluring green eyes staring into her eyes and her soft finger tracing patterns along her forearm, Korra has absolutely no doubt that Asami is a very persuasive person.  
Tenzin returns with their orders boxed in Styrofoam and bagged in plastic and after Asami pays (with protest from Korra), they leave to enjoy the food in the privacy and intimacy of Korra’s home.  
/  
Monday Night  
They each enjoy a few beers (and some peach flavored liquor that Korra swears isn’t moonshine, but Asami’s withering self-awareness begs to differ) with their meal, which Asami admits is the best barbeque she’s ever had. Lying around in Korra’s big bed, laughing with each other is an intimacy that Asami can’t remember ever having before and every little story about her childhood that Korra tells Asami makes her even more enamored with the rustic individual.  
The Brave’s hat sits on the bed between them; and, for some reason, it reminds Asami that she will have to leave tomorrow. The knowledge weighs heavily on her heart and she looks up at Korra thinking about going back to Republic City without her and it’s hard to picture herself without the young woman in her life now.  
“What about tomorrow?” Asami can’t help it when the words stumble clumsily past her lips, cutting off Korra in the middle of her story.  
Bringing the Mason jar filled with the peach liquor to her lips, Korra frowns, “I’m not sure. I want to be with you, I do. But Republic City is a long ways away and I just can’t abandon the farm or ask you to abandon everything that’s important to you.”  
Asami nods, the reality sinking in despite the haze, “I don’t want to leave you though.” God, she sounds like a petulant child. “Korra, you’ve shown me a lot these past couple days. Things that I wouldn’t normally appreciate. Sweating my ass off by the river would not have been my ideal choice, but when we were together drinking and having fun, I was so happy. When you kiss me…”  
Asami trails off, licking her lips and tasting the sweetness of Korra’s mouth and smiling happily. She laughs, eyes filled with lust as she watches Korra, “And let me tell you, watching you work on the farm turns me on in a way that I would have never guessed.”  
Korra’s mouth descends on hers, this kiss much gentler than the others. Her fingers rake slowly through Asami’s black strands from the roots to the tips and Asami’s lips coax Korra’s persuasively, earning a low growl from the latter.   
The drunken buzz is dizzying and Korra’s wandering hands aren’t helping Asami’s cause. It feels so good to just absolutely let loose like she is now. Her pale hand splays across Korra’s sun kissed back as an anchor, thumb rubbing slow circles into the tan skin. For once in her life, her mind isn’t reeling and she’s focused completely on this one moment, not the future decisions she’ll have to make or the fact that she’s leaving tomorrow.  
Korra pulls away first, her rapid breaths falling across Asami’s face and chest as she hovers over her. Asami’s teeth pull softly at the skin of her throat and Korra sighs, “You really aren’t helping make this situation any better.”  
Biting down sharply in retribution, Asami says with a hint of amusement, “You kissed me first!”  
Laughing, Korra shakes her head, “I don’t care if you’re on the other side of planet; we’ll make it work.”  
“You’re stubborn.”  
“You like it.” Korra’s hand gives her behind a slight squeeze.  
“You’re so charming.” Asami rolls her eyes, her hand swatting Korra’s hand playfully without any malice.  
“I got you to fall for me, didn’t I?”  
“It was just your alluring country accent and sexy arms. Don’t think you actually had anything to do with this.”  
/  
Tuesday Morning  
Dressed in one of the business suits she had packed for her stay, Asami waits at the kitchen table for Tonraq. She chats idly with Korra, reads the newspaper, and replies to a few dozen e-mails before the tall, fear-inspiring man enters the door.  
She stands, smoothing her suit out of habit and offer the man her hand in greeting, much like she had done to her daughter only a few days prior, “Hello, Mr. Tonraq. My name is Asami Sato and I’m here on behalf of Future Industries to discuss the prospect of a business partnership.”  
/  
Korra walks Asami out to her car, wringing her hat in her hands out of nervousness. Opening the door for the young woman, Korra half-smiles, trying in vain to hide her disappointment, “You’ll call me, right?”  
“Of course, Korra.” Her lips grin up at her and she pulls at the fabric of the young woman’s t-shirt, watching as Korra’s hair ornaments swing back and forth in amusement before she places a lingering kiss on her lips.  
“Thanks for introducing me to this lifestyle.”  
“Thanks for letting me show you how it all feels. I am gonna miss my slice of the city.”  
Asami rolls her eyes, but squeezes Korra’s hand lightly, “I’m coming back.”  
“Not soon enough.” Korra pauses before tossing the old dirty hat in Asami’s passenger seat, “Take it so you have something to remember by. At least, until you come back and I can give you something you’ll really remember.” She licks her lips as she says this, blue eyes shining with sadness despite the humor.  
“See you later, trouble. Try not to miss me too much.”


End file.
